


(i couldn't) let it be known

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Best Friend/Older Brother, Breakfast, Caretaking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, long-term pining, with friends like these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 01:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: Jaime's never seen Briennedrunk, so when Margaery and Sansa show up at Jaime's apartment with a very drunk Brienne, Jaime has questions. Brienne has been nursing a crush on her friend Tyrion's older brother for years now; she's sad and too drunk to stop herself from asking for a little bit of comfort.--"Again, why amIbeing woken up in the middle of the night?""She --" Margaery starts but Brienne interrupts."I wanted you," Brienne says, her words slurred as she blinks at him slowly.Jaime's heart skips for just a moment before the worry settles back in. "How drunkisshe?" he asks, glaring between Margaery and Sansa."Not --" Brienne begins, hiccups, and continues, "notthatdrunk."Jaime can't help the snort of laughter. Leave it to Brienne to only protest mildly.





	(i couldn't) let it be known

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to bethanyactually for a super quick beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is a fill for prompt requests #15, #51, and #71, for tumblr users: firesign23, remuslovestonks, twp-not-great, and an anonymous requester!

Jaime bolts awake, heart racing, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He nearly jumps out of his skin when someone pounds on his door. He glances at his phone, groaning when he sees it's two-thirty in the goddamn morning. If he were more awake, he would probably be worried, but as it is, he's just annoyed. 

He throws a shirt on and staggers his way into the living room, peeking out the peephole only to find three very familiar women loitering outside. 

With a roll of his eyes, he unlocks the door and throws it open. Flushed and glassy-eyed, Margaery and Sansa support a tilting Brienne between them. Margaery takes one look at his face and giggles. He lifts a hand to his head, feeling his hair sticking out in about fifty different directions. He glares at her before saying, "Why am I being woken up in the middle of the night? And what have you done to Brienne?"

"It's not our fault you're an old man." Margaery's coy smile is a little too practiced to seem remotely genuine. "Young adults like to go out and have fun on a Friday night."

Jaime glares. "That doesn't answer the second question."

Margaery huffs and rolls her eyes, but doesn't have a chance to answer before Sansa pipes in with, "She broke up with Hyle so we took her out to drink her troubles away."

Jaime's sleep-addled mind jumps from anger at Hyle for whatever he must have done, to worry for Brienne, to annoyance with Sansa and Margaery, and back to mild confusion all in the span of a few seconds. 

"Again, why am _I_ being woken up in the middle of the night?" 

"She --" Margaery starts but Brienne interrupts.

"I wanted you," Brienne says, her words slurred as she blinks at him slowly. 

Jaime's heart skips for just a moment before the worry settles back in. "How drunk _is_ she?" he asks, glaring between Margaery and Sansa. 

"Not --" Brienne begins, hiccups, and continues, "not _that _drunk."

Jaime can't help the snort of laughter. Leave it to Brienne to only protest mildly. 

"Look," Margaery says, sounding a lot less drunk than she had even five minutes ago, "she wanted to come here and we don't want to leave her alone at her apartment. And, frankly, you'll have a much easier time helping her to the bathroom when she hurls." 

"Fine," Jaime relents. "Come on, Brie." Jaime holds out a hand, but as soon as Margaery and Sansa release their grips on Brienne's waist, she stumbles into Jaime, knocking the wind out of him. 

He automatically wraps his arms around her and steadies her with a, "Whoa. Careful." 

She leans away far enough to smile at him goofily. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," he says and can't stop the smile on his own face. 

"Well!" Sansa announces with a clap. "You seem to have this under control." She pats Brienne on the shoulder. "Drink some water, Bee."

"Mmhmm," Brienne acknowledges, still smiling up at Jaime. 

"Bye," Margaery and Sansa sing-song as they make their way back downstairs. 

Jaime lets go of Brienne. She immediately lists and he grabs her with a quick, "I've got you." 

Brienne _giggles_. It's an...incongruous sound from her. He shifts enough so that they're standing side-by-side, her arm slung across his shoulder. He shuffles them to the couch, depositing Brienne on it. 

"I'm going to get you something to sleep in," he tells her. "Don't yack while I'm gone."

"Not going to throw up," she says, slumping against the back of the couch, her entire body slack. 

Jaime just shakes his head and goes back to his room to grab sweats and a t-shirt for Brienne. By the time he comes back, she's already half-asleep, her head tilted at a painful angle over the back of the couch.

He grabs her limp hands and pulls, "Up you go." 

She stands with a grunt of aggravation, but clearly overestimates her stability and falls into him, clutching him in a bear hug so tight it _hurts_.

"Little bit gentler," he says, patting her arm. "I can't breathe here." 

Brienne loosens her grip and shifts until she can stand without leaning to one side. Her eyes clear as she looks at him, as if everything is finally coming into focus. "I woke you up."

"Well it is after two in the morning," he explains gently. 

"It is?" 

"It is." He holds up the sleep clothes. "I brought you something more comfortable to change into. You're going to feel even worse if you try to sleep in --" his eyes glance up and down her body, the silky shirt and skin-tight denim, and his mouth goes a bit dry, "--in that."

"Thanks," she says quietly, taking the bundle from him and staring down at it. "I'll just --" she nods toward the bathroom. 

"I'll get you some water and painkillers while you change." 

The glass and white pills are on the coffee table when she comes back out, his t-shirt tight across her shoulders and chest, his sweatpants clinging to her hips in a way they certainly don't to his. She pauses when her eyes land on him, a faint timidity in her expression as she walks unsteadily to the couch. She plops down next to him inelegantly and accepts the medicine and water without protest. She's already sobering up, if evidenced only by her ability to stand on her own again, but her eyes are still glassy, and her limbs a bit too loose, as the crease between her eyebrows furrows deeper. 

"Sorry about this," she says, and slumps down until her head can rest against the back of the couch once more. She tilts her head to the side, cheek resting against the cushion as she stares at him. "I usually don't drink this much."

"I know." He takes the empty water glass from her and sets it back on the coffee table. "I'm sorry about Hyle."

Her face twists in pain, a look he knows she would've hidden if she wasn't intoxicated. "It's fine. He was an ass. Everyone tried to tell me, but--" she shrugs. 

"Yeah," he says. He knows it's the same reason he dated his ex for so long. Sometimes, no matter how awful it is, the comfort of another person is still better than the fear of being alone and waking up to an empty place in your bed where your partner should be. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I really, really don't," she says, voice tight, almost choked. 

Jaime wants to comfort her, to draw her into his side and hold her. He can nearly feel her hair beneath his palm, and the warm muscles of her body against him. But they aren't that sort of friends. Cersei never liked if Jaime even hugged Brienne, and Hyle always gets a sour expression on his face if they so much as touch shoulders. Well, got a sour expression on his face. 

Her eyes flutter shut, exhaustion coloring her features, and he can't completely resist, reaching out to grip Brienne's shoulder in a buddy-to-buddy comfort squeeze. Her eyes don't open, but the corner of her mouth twitches in an almost smile, and even that little flicker feels like a victory. She reaches up to place her hand over his, patting it just as awkwardly as he touched her. 

"You should get some rest," he tells her when she drops her hand. "You're going to feel like absolute shit in the morning."

She nods tiredly. 

He stands up, and helps guide her into a comfortable position on the couch. She curls up immediately, arm around the pillow. He covers her with the throw blanket, making sure her bare feet are under the cloth. She's already breathing heavily, and he can't ignore the need to brush the hair at her temple away from her forehead. She hums, and leans into the touch. 

He crouches down before he has time to think better of it, curiosity getting the better of him. "Why did you come here instead of going home?"

"It's nice," she mumbles, barely audible. "Feels like home with you here."

\--

Brienne wakes with the worst headache she's ever had in her life. A throbbing, pounding, splintering pain that nearly makes her scream when she opens her eyes and the evil, evil light hits them. She would roll over and go back to sleep, preferably forever, but it was the smell of coffee that roused her in the first place and she craves nothing like she craves the sweet comfort of caffeine.

It takes her a moment to get her bearings. In her hungover, addled state, she expected to see her own apartment, but instead she finds herself on Jaime's couch, the soft grey fabric familiar as she pushes herself up to sitting. Her stomach flips over threateningly, bile climbing up her throat. She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, focusing instead on the sounds of Jaime puttering around in his kitchen. 

Brienne manages to lever herself off the couch and stumble into kitchen, blinking against the harsh light. Jaime's still in only his t-shirt and boxers, stirring scrambled eggs in a pan, a steaming mug on the counter beside him. As if feeling her gaze, he looks over at her with a grin, and she blushes when she realizes just how long she's stood there, staring at him. Gods, but he's handsome. Even with his bedhead, rumpled shirt, and sleep-swollen eyes, he's the most handsome man she's ever seen. 

"Good morning!" he greets her brightly, on _purpose_. 

She scowls at him, which only makes him laugh at her. She grumbles, but leaves it alone in favor of getting her own cup of coffee. She knows her way around Jaime's apartment nearly as well as she knows her own. 

Brienne first met Jaime through his younger brother Tyrion. They were classmates in high school, both bullied for their height (she was way too tall, he was way too short) and their looks. They bonded and Tyrion did his best to make her laugh at the assholes, instead of crying over their cruelty. It didn't always work, but she would always be grateful. And with Tyrion came Tyrion's older brother, Jaime. Brienne still remembers being fourteen years old and going to Tyrion's house over winter break that first year of high school, only to have the door answered by a golden-haired, green-eyed god-like man. 

It still makes her flush to the roots of her hair to remember how she stammered and physically backed away from him. But he hadn't mocked her, not that she would have expected him to if she'd had time to process it. Tyrion had told her about how much he missed his awesome older brother, but Brienne had never considered what Jaime would _look_ like. He'd stepped aside and said, "You must be Brienne," with a heart-stopping smile and she was _lost_. 

A plate of eggs appears next to her as if summoned by magic. She looks up to find Jaime walking away with his own plate.

"Sorry about last night," she says, taking a seat on the barstool next to him. 

He looks over at her, chewing a bite of egg and swallowing before he shrugs. "Don't worry about it."

"Well, still," she looks away from him, shoving her own eggs around on her plate. "I shouldn't have woken you up in the middle of the night."

"Technically," he says, gesturing with his fork, "Margaery and Sansa woke me up."

She grimaces at the fuzzy memory that brings up. "I'm pretty sure I threatened to walk here if they didn't."

Jaime chuckles. She glances over, unable to stop herself from smiling at the twinkling humor in his grass-green eyes. 

"You're welcome any time," he says, his expression soft and genuine. "Drunk _or_ sober."

She blushes, unable to stop the habitual pinkening of her cheeks. "I know. I just hate that I --" she waves her hand in the air. "I hate that I disturbed you."

"Hey," he says, and swivels in his seat until his whole body faces her. "I'm not kidding. That's what friends are for, right?"

The word friends settles in Brienne's already tumultuous stomach like a rock. She can feel the smile on her face falter before she catches herself. She thinks Jaime may have noticed, though, with the way his eyes search her face more intently. She forces herself to smile brightly and say, "Yeah. That's what friends are for." 

She even manages to sound sincere, not at all sad or yearning. Jaime looks at her intently for a suspended moment, and she feels her pulse start to ratchet up with fear that he knows now; that he can _tell_ how much she wishes for something more than, something she won't let herself put a real name to. If she names it, if she forms a complete sentence, allows it that much space in her heart, she's worried she won't be able to press it down anymore and that she'll -- that she'll lose one of the very few people she can count on. 

Brienne looks away from him, grabbing her coffee and taking an ill-advised gulp that burns on its way down. She can't think of anything to say, or a way to break the strange tension that's settled over them -- or maybe it's just settled over her, with her silly, pining wants, and Jaime is as oblivious as he's always been.

"Do you--" he says so suddenly she startles and whips her head around to look at him, his face tight with something she can't quite put her finger on. "Do you want to stay and watch the game?"

Whatever she's expecting, it's not that. And yet, there's a tension to Jaime that belies the casual offer, one he's extended hundreds of times before. Unreasonably, it feels different this time. She's probably imagining it, and yet --

"Yeah," she says, mouth quirked in a hesitant smile. "I'd like that."

Jaime smiles back at her and then nods down at her plate. "You should eat. It'll help with the nausea and headache."

Brienne rolls her eyes -- even though it hurts -- but aggressively shoves a large forkful of eggs into her mouth, staring at him challengingly. 

For better or worse, the expression on his face is at least fond, and that's enough for Brienne. For now.


End file.
